


Pleasant Portents

by StealthKaiju



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Getting Together, Historical References, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, establishing a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Before Armageddon there was 'the Agreement'.There is also Crowley and Aziraphale spending a lot of time with each other, and sometimes familiarity doesn't breed contempt.





	Pleasant Portents

**Author's Note:**

> The author wishes to join Crowley and Aziraphale in their grovelling apology to the estates of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
> 
> Also to David Tennant and Michael Sheen who are being dragged into this nonsense.

Whoever said things will look better in the morning was a liar. (It was Rudyard Kipling, probably the least of his crimes.)

 

If cigarettes had been invented Crowley would have certainly reached for one. It would have given him something to do with his hands. The _strrkkt_ of a match and the deep inhale would have been better than the silence between them.

 

The silence was unpalatable. It left a coppery, metallic taste in the back of the throat.

 

‘Well, that was…’ he croaked. He cleared his throat. ‘Well… actually, what was that?’ he asked, turning to Aziraphale, just in time to see the angel jump out of the third-floor window.

 

-

 

Crowley walked through the labyrinthine streets, deep in thought. (There had been a slight interruption when someone had tried to rob him, but at least the stray dogs wouldn’t go hungry tonight.) Just when you think you know someone – and he had known Aziraphale for a long, long time – they go and have sex with you.

 

Wild, bestial, wonderful, sex. The sort of sex that even Catherine the Great would have blushed at. (Not that Crowley had anything against the empress – he found her an excellent dinner companion. Her problem was sex and power; i.e. the fact that society didn’t have a problem with either until a woman was enjoying it.)

 

Where did that leave ‘the Agreement’? More importantly, what did it mean for them?

 

-

 

When Aziraphale finally stopped hiding from him, after a few years and a few revolts, he tried to ask. ‘Are we going to talk about what happened?’

 

Aziraphale shook his head. ‘Probably for the best if we don’t.’

 

Fair enough.

 

-

 

‘They’re _daguerreotypes_ ,’ said Aziraphale carefully, reading the card next to the exhibit. ‘Imagine, being able to capture a moment for all time.’ He shuddered. ‘How dreadful.’

 

Crowley elbowed him in the side lightly. ‘Oh come on, far more interesting than that sparkly rock.’

 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. ‘The Koh-i-Noor, the world’s largest known diamond.’

 

Crowley shrugged. ‘Whatever. I’m sure it’s very valuable and important, but these,‘ he said, gesturing to the pictures ‘are the future.’

 

‘The future is grey, full of uncomfortable and unsmiling people, is it?’ huffed Aziraphale.

 

Crowley scoffed. ‘Probably time to get some lunch. We’ve been looking around this place for hours, and you get horribly cranky if you haven’t eaten in a while.’

 

Aziraphale scowled and haughtily whispered. ‘I am an angel, and do not require sustenance.’

 

‘Yeah, but what’s the point of immortality if we haven’t time to drink wine and eat cake?’

 

Aziraphale’s lips twitched slightly. ‘Lead on Macduff.’

 

-

 

If Aziraphale had noticed that they were again drinking some very good wine and eating some very fine food, spending long hours in a private room in the more insalubrious part of Soho, he didn’t mention it.

 

He didn’t mention that once again they found themselves in the same bed.

 

At least when Crowley woke up in the morning, he found a carafe of cold water by the bed and left under a warm plate some devilled eggs (hell, that angel had an awful sense of humour).

 

No Aziraphale.

 

Bugger.

 

-

 

‘Are you saying the best thing about that were the people running out in panic?’ Aziraphale chided.

 

‘That was the best thing about it. I mean, the train was nice and all, but the audience reaction was far more interesting to watch.’

 

‘I don’t think it’ll catch on.’

 

‘That’s what you said about agriculture.’

 

Aziraphale _tsked_. ‘Anyway, do you have anywhere else to be?’

 

‘Not really. You?’

 

‘No. There’s a lovely café around here, if you’ll join me?’

 

‘Really? A little bistro, with a friendly owner, who has a table always ready for you? You do surprise me.’

 

-

 

One thing Crowley would say about Aziraphale, at least he left him in some nice luxurious places. He had also left him with one of those new ‘word-cross’ puzzles that he had raved about.

 

Nah, not his thing. Maybe something with numbers…

 

_

 

‘He has a wonderful voice, but this… Jupiter, was it?’

 

‘Mercury.’

 

‘Yes, him. His music, it’s not really my cup of tea.’

 

‘Azi, nothing past 1950 is your cup of tea. Why did we come here?’

 

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned slightly pink. ‘I thought you would appreciate it.’

 

Crowley smirked. ‘You know me, I love a bandwagon.’

 

-

 

Well, now that he had woken up in _Aziraphale’s own bed_ , Crowley did wonder how the angel was going to walk away from this one. Burn down the shop maybe? No, not with all the books he had. Unless he’d got up ridiculously early, to squirrel them away somewhere safe.

 

Crowley’s body ached. He had been meticulously and thoroughly used, and had loved every minute of it. Was a shame to leave the nice warm bed, but he slowly dragged himself up to a sitting position, despite his limbs feeling leaden.

 

‘Cup of tea?’ came a voice, and Crowley nearly (literally) jumped out of his skin.

 

‘You’re here?’ he squeaked. He cleared his throat. ‘Thought you’d have legged it by now.’

 

Aziraphale handed him a cup of strong milky tea (perfect) in a china cup that looked like it may have belonged to Queen Victoria (it had – Aziraphale felt slightly guilty about stealing it, but then less so when he remembered how much of a spoilt and brattish individual she had been). ‘I have been cowardly. I am sorry, so sorry,’ he said softly.

 

Crowley huffed. ‘Yeah, well, a bit yeah. You know, this pattern of taking me to things, and hanging round… You know I like you right? If you want sex, you don’t need to… to… _woo_ me.’ Crowley waved a hand. ‘You could just ask.’

 

Aziraphale sat next to him, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Crowley… I like _wooing_ you, if that’s what you want to call it.’ He sighed. ‘I like spending time with you, you know as well as… as well as…’

 

‘The fucking?’

 

‘Language, please!’ Aziraphale scolded, but his eyes were alight. ‘But yes, I like both. I want to do both, if that is alright with you.’

 

Crowley turned his head around and placed a soft kiss against the other’s lips.

 

‘Hell yeah.’

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies, but thank you for reading.


End file.
